


take me to church (i'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies)

by earthandblood



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Future Fic, Non-Explicit Sex, On the Run, Recreational Drug Use, This Will Be Jossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:29:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1368943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthandblood/pseuds/earthandblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Take me to church<br/>I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies<br/>I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife<br/>Offer me that deathless heaven<br/>Good god, let me give you my life</em><br/>-Hozier, "Take Me To Church"</p><p>Coulson loses track of where he ends, and Skye begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take me to church (i'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies)

**Author's Note:**

> i am going to finish "i'm just waiting for the sun" - the fifth chapter is actually complete, it's just the fourth that's making me write and rewrite. this is mostly about my complicated feelings towards the show (i have very in-depth conversations with a coworker who is also really into comic book-derived entertainment) and being pissed at joss wheadon in general. i don't even know.

They have always mirrored each other, but when her nightmares start bleeding into his Coulson knows they’ve run out of time.

Skye looks ragged and emotionally wrung out (he figures he doesn’t look much better, and he certainly _feels_ the same), but they don’t talk about it. He lets his bland, SHIELD-approved expression slip when he thinks no one is watching, and in return Skye gives him helpless little shrugs, as if to say _what can we do_?

Both of them desperately need a full night’s sleep, so they take to avoiding each other, sticking to either side of the Bus as much as they can. If the team notices...well, they’re all too busy falling apart themselves to comment.

 

Fury finds out. When they go on the run, it feels like all of SHIELD is after them.

 

Anyone at SHIELD who had been close (a handful, at best) to Coulson knew of his secret foodie identity; post-mission ritual often involved being dragged to an unknown hole-in-the-wall, Coulson rambling (as much as a high level SHIELD agent can ramble) about combinations of flavor and texture, genuine excitement and a need for distraction equally motivating him.

He told May about Lima; once, in his past life, that would have been the truth.

But he’s not that person. Hasn’t been in a long time, and the distance between him and _the other Phil_ just keeps getting longer. So instead he and Skye hop a boat to Southeast Asia. They’re spending so much time together (and so _little_ interacting with other human beings), in such close proximity all the time that it startles him terribly when he realizes he doesn’t need to give her direction as often. He doesn’t verbally tell her where she needs to wear a headscarf; Skye _just does it_ and the ease with which they fall into this...he thinks perhaps _empathic_ partnership, for lack of a better term, frightens him.

But then, Skye’s been frightening him since day one.  It shouldn't be so surprising.

They don’t stop for more than a night, and Coulson tries to give her the bed (if they can even get a room with one, which isn’t as often as he would hope) but she stubbornly demands they share; they compromise on trading back and forth. He doesn’t want to know what will happen if they spend every night sleeping next to each other.

 

It's his turn to take the bed when a specifically _bad_ nightmare takes him.  The sudden shift from Nick Fury carving letters into his brain, to Skye's panicking face and her voice, soft and insistent makes him sob.  Then she's pulling him into her arms, letting him shake and heave and Coulson _swears_ he can feel her trying to soothe his soul, warm shades of gold settling across the jagged edges of his mind.  Skye murmurs quietly to him, telling him she sees the pieces SHIELD cut away, telling him she will give him all the pieces of herself to make him whole again. 

She won't sleep apart after this, and Coulson can't make himself say no.

 

For a "secret agent" he is exceedingly good at picking pockets to fund their needs, and Skye is becoming exceedingly good at distracting their prey.  They don't plan their outings; Coulson, in a crowded space, doesn't move and in response Skye _does_ and it works, exceedingly well.  They snag a wallet in the Philippines, and in between folded pesos he finds a tightly rolled joint.  In the hotel room Skye snags it out of his hand with a smirk, "I need like, one night to relax AC.  I literally have no adrenalin left at this point to worry."  Coulson can't help the frown that creases his face, but it doesn't stop him from sitting next to her by the window, the flare of her hip comforting against his. 

"Don't tell me your a square," she says in a low voice and traces the shape in the air with the joint balanced between two slim fingers. 

"I admit, I was _maybe_ a bit of a rebel in my youth," Coulson replies in a disinterested voice.  The threads of them are so tangled now though, Skye just shoulder bumps him and scoffs.

"Leather jackets and Doc Martins?"  She takes a long drag, then fits her mouth against his.  This is not surprising; the curl of arousal from her has been settled in his belly for a while now.  He opens up reflexively and takes a breath, pungent smoke rolling on his tongue.  It actually hasn't been as long as would be suspected since he's smoked marijuana.  Sometimes undercover requires being _really_ persuasive and it's not like he can't think clearly stoned; years of SHIELD training has taught him well.

"That's pretty hot, AC," she says as she pulls away grinning at him.  Coulson looks at her, and it's like a sunny day on a beach in Southern California.

He exhales.  The night goes on, uneventful.

 

 _Hot lead ripping through his belly.  The cold of the stone floor seeping into his bones.  A breathe, then two, then Skye cradling him-_ He wakes up to her trembling and whimpering.  The weight of being on the lam for months comes crashing down on him; this is all _his fault_.  Skye, who just wanted to know who she is, and he selfishly dragged her down with him, forced something alien into her like SHIELD forced into his corpse.  The sharp, bright _silver_ of her anguish is ringing in his ears and he can't breathe; Coulson jerks away, as if burned, but her hand claws at his forearm.  Skye's awake and staring at him with huge eyes, the darkness of them threatening to swallow him whole.  

"I'm sorry," is all he can manage, but she nods and grips his hand in hers.  They watch each other till the sun rises.

 

A year after it begins, Coulson takes them to a small bungalow that he knows Natasha used to maintain in Vietnam.  He is not surprised to find a note; letters written in Natasha's small, neat print telling him SHIELD has shifted their priorities (below this, in Clint's almost illegible scrawl reads _stay safe, Phil_.)  The jungle is just outside their door, and Coulson can't help but think of escape routes in the dark of midnight.  Skye takes the day to venture down to the market, and comes back triumphant; they chop fresh produce and cook fresh fish and eat with greasy, messy fingers. 

The moon is heavy and full, hanging in the sky above them.  Emotions between them flow like the tide and they've gotten significantly better at _not_ overwhelming each other; Coulson doesn't know if it's a good thing that he and Skye rarely speak more than a few words to each other every day.  Everything about her is pulling at him (an undertow he would gladly drown for) and he doesn't stop her when she pushes him back against the floor, swings a tanned leg across to sit astride him.

Skye is practically luminous above him, back-lit against a sea of glittering stars, and Coulson can't breathe; not with the hot slickness of her against his flesh, taking everything from him.  He gives it willingly, will always to her, _for her_.  This has never been in question though.  She is the steady anchor that has tethered him to this life-after-life.  Him, the _Phil of now;_ that's the only one she's ever known.

Coulson finally, completely, lets himself fall open to her, and then there is no space left between them. 

 


End file.
